Even love needs a plan
by sallyboy
Summary: Background to the reunion scene in S3E1. Prompt from a Facebook discussion. Now with added what happens next.
1. Chapter 1

'I'd give anything to be back in Paris right now.' When d'Artagnan said that on the battlefield, those scarce few days past, never in his wildest dreams did he think he'd be sitting here on his horse, sharing a bottle passed between the four of them, in the meadow overlooking Paris. Four of them. Four. They'd found Aramis in their search for a missing supply of gunpowder and now they were four again. They didn't fit together in the same way they used to, but this was to be expected. War had marked them in ways which made this impossible, not the least the lack of shared experience, which Aramis felt keenly.

Nevertheless, here he was and he didn't have a clue what to do. About Constance. About anything. The man who could lead a reckless charge into a cannon battery without a second thought was out of ideas and terrified of what he might find. He loved her, he said so in every letter he wrote home over these lonely years. She said the same to him, of course she did. But now he had time to ponder what had been unsaid in all their correspondence. Had she omitted anything? Had she hinted at something that he needed to know about and he'd missed it? All those carefully folded letters in his saddlebags suddenly seemed weightier than a royal decree. Lord knew, there was plenty he had not told her. Could not tell her. About the blood, the screams, the dead, or worse the half-dead, the illness, the despair, the destruction. These would be laid to rest in their own time.

More immediately, Constance. Who was not aware her husband was near Paris, crouched next to his horse retching up the wine he'd recently consumed. It was Porthos who had been teasing him about the nature of his reunion, becoming ever more colourful until d'Artagnan had been gripped by a fear so strong that it had turned him green in his saddle and forced him to the ground. Now it was Porthos beside him, clasping his shoulder, looking up into the faces of the others, knowing they had to help him. Not just now - holding someone's head is easy – but with seeing Constance again. D'Artagnan hadn't seen Constance since he rode out of the Garrison straight after their wedding, now he was so close. How do you approach someone you love when you are scared of what you'll find? But what was it he was scared of, exactly?

A good many things as it turned out. The four of them discussed this after he'd recovered enough to speak. One of these fears was that she had been unfaithful and he would return to find he had been cuckolded. Variations of 'you must be joking' came from the others, but to him it wouldn't go away. No-one needed to put voice to the reason for that. Another was that she would find him so changed that she would reject him. When he was asked if he was scared that he would find her so changed that he could no longer love her, his face softened as he declared he would always love her. Aramis smiled, huffed and shook his head as Porthos and Athos looked at each other and made a silent pact. Then they began to plan.

Some approaches were rejected out of hand, like the one about all four riding into the Garrison courtyard unannounced. It was a romantic notion, but not a practical one. Like it or not, they would have to go to Minister Treville first. The small matter of reporting what became of the gunpowder and General Lantier was, after all, the reason they were here. A more subdued approach was required.

It was Aramis who suggested he go alone whilst the others reported to Treville. They would explain his absence, sure Treville would understand. Perhaps he could even leave his horse with them and walk to the Garrison if he didn't want to attract attention. In truth, he really didn't know what he wanted or how to present himself. He knew he didn't want to her to see him as a soldier, bristling with weapons and one step away from a fight. Not today. He needed NOT to be that, he needed to show her he was home.

In the end, it was Porthos who worked it all out. They watched the Garrison from outside, waiting until Constance had left on an errand, before approaching and explaining themselves. One of the cadets offered to show where Constance's rooms were and made mention that 'Madame d'Artagnan likes things tidy' as they observed the cleanly swept stone steps. Porthos smiled, that indeed, was the Constance they all knew. Aramis suggested a trail of things to pick up would bring her to her rooms, where they could have their reunion in private. The cadet, whose name they discovered was Clairmont, agreed to make sure that she found the trail and that thereafter they would not be disturbed. He heated and fetched some water for d'Artagnan, leaving him in Madame's rooms as the others went to report to the Minister. He took d'Artagnan's boots and gloves, laying them on the steps in the corridor, whilst d'Artagnan removed his own armour and leathers. These he placed with care where they could be seen from the door and went to wash.

He heard the commotion. The sound of Constance's voice chastising the cadets for running so welcome it nearly took his breath away, at the same time as it caused his stomach to churn with emotion. Emotion clear on his face and in his voice as she appeared, as beautiful as he remembered, looking at him, delight and disbelief chasing each other across her face. He knew the answer as soon as he saw her, but his words drew her forward, to him, as he said 'Did you miss me?'


	2. Chapter 2

He held her close, not wanting to let go in case this was all a dream and he would wake, as he had done so many times, reaching for her and finding only blankets and cold earth. The buttons of her coat and her belt buckle dug into his skin, but he didn't care. If he could feel them, he knew this was real and he was – at last – home. He was trembling, surely holding her tight enough to hurt, but she didn't seem to mind. One side of his chest and a shoulder were wet – had he missed a spot trying to make himself presentable? He didn't want her to think him sloppy after all this time. He loosened his grip as she shifted, looking down to her again and realising that she was shaking as well, that in fact they were holding each other up and her face was shiny with tears. But she was smiling. They held each other at arm's length, each assessing what they could see. Her eyes flicked over him, ticking off new scars, taking in his wholeness and appreciating his state of undress. He remembered that look.

In their discussions, Aramis had reminded him that he would need to treat Constance with great care and gentleness to avoid overwhelming her. Clearly there were some lessons that stuck, even if the advisor himself was somewhat rusty in his practice! So he held her gaze, flicking his own eyes over her heavy leather coat, raising an eyebrow as he half-smiled at her, letting her see his trepidation, caressing her shoulder where the gloves ended. He could feel her shaking still, and his own hand was perhaps too firm, as he attempted to bring himself under control.

She tried to unbuckle her belt, feeling distinctly overdressed, but her fingers would not co-operate. That was his cue. Keeping his hands on her shoulders, he stepped behind her, slid his hands around her waist, murmuring 'May I?' as she flounced in frustration at her own fumbling, but allowed him to unbuckle and remove her heavy belt. He took care to lay it aside, then returned his hands to her shoulders, seeking permission to remove her coat. She shrugged her shoulders slightly, allowing him to slip the coat off, down her arms, stepping away to hang it on what he hoped was the correct coat hook near the screen. He stepped back to her, placing his hands chastely at her waist, his lips not-so-chastely on her now-bare shoulders. And stood still.

She had no plan, no warning and no idea at all about what to do next. Before he'd left, before the war, she would have known EXACTLY what the next move would be, but now? Could she remember? Could she tell where her memories ended and her dreams began? His hands at her waist and his breath on her shoulders near her neck reminded her this was not a dream. She wanted to feel his warm skin on her own. To reassure herself that this was not a dream, she wanted to create a new memory. She reached for his hand, placing it on her laces, turned her head and very quietly said 'You may.'


End file.
